Match Made in Heaven
by soybean
Summary: [RyoSaku] AU. Echizen Ryoma is the world's most eligible bachelor, but girls are the last thing on his mind. Too bad his woman-loving father thinks otherwise.


**Author's Notes**: Dedicated to and inspired by Cinpii and pirou, as well as all the other Ryo/Saku writers who keep the fandom alive. Also for pam, who was in need of a "happy fic", and for bOw-doWn-tO-KeiKO, who seems to pop in an uplifting review to nearly all my stories. I hope you all enjoy this. Reviews are loved.

Standard disclaimers apply. Tennis no Oujisama belongs to Takeshi Konomi. This is a work of pure fiction.

**Match Made in Heaven**

Chapter One: Sometimes Fate Needs a Little Push

------

"_I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; _  
_I only know it shall be high, I only know it shall be great."_

_-- Richard Hovey_

_------_

It is said that love happens by fate. At the beginning of time, people were created in pairs, separated, albeit destined to be together in the end. Soul mates, they were commonly known as. Unfortunately, Echizen Ryoma was one of those who chose to ignore his "destiny", and one of those who would fail, for fate decided a bit of force would be required to jump start _his_ reluctant love life.

In this case, our bringer of fate came in the form of a nosy, perverted father, who liked to get involved in his son's business. And of all the aspects of Ryoma's life, he most enjoyed tampering with the 'love' portion.

Who says you can't force someone to fall in love? That's what arranged marriages were for, weren't they? And while most people found that to be tribal, unnecessary, primitive, and a thing of the past, Echizen Nanjiroh found it very a convenient notion.

Little did he know, he was only speeding along that inescapable end -- and I don't mean death.

Fate's more like it.

------

"No."

Unfortunately, there was no way out of a situation like this. And no matter how many times he refused -- it must've been at least a hundred by now -- Echizen Ryoma knew there was no avoiding or ignoring this whole absurd ordeal. Besides, his oyaji was having way too much fun, and entertainment for his father meant misery on his part.

This was no exception.

"No," he repeated, slightly louder. Nanjiroh continued snickering away.

"You're going to" -- snort -- "marry her" -- snicker -- "and that's final," his father stated firmly, or as firmly as a giggling man could muster anyway.

He was pissed.

Dating he could handle. Flowers, chocolate, restaurants, pretending to be interested in a woman? Easy. But marriage wasn't something he could dump two weeks later and imagine never existed. Marriage meant devotion. Not that he wasn't a very devoted man. How else would he have managed to rope a reputation as one of the top professional tennis players worldwide at the young age of fifteen? And kept that position for five years steady and counting? But devotion to a... girl.

At twenty, Ryoma didn't like the thought of that. Not one bit. It didn't help having looks, fame, and wealth to go along with it all. With all those women throwing themselves at you, how could you _trust_ even _one _when you're trying to _avoid_ them _all_?

Ryoma frowned. He was _very_ pissed.

"You know she's a very cute girl."

And his old man didn't know when to quit, it seemed.

"I don't care. I don't really want to talk about it," the tennis prodigy mumbled, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. The suddenly-sprung marriage, along with his father's mere presence, was giving him a headache.

"Alright, we can talk about something else, if you'd like," Nanjiroh suggested as his eyebrows wiggled a bit, "We never did finish that 'sex talk' did we?"

Ryoma's eyelids snapped open of their own accord as he hissed out, "Your sex talks are more explicit than pornographic films."

"Ah, he confesses! Finally admitting you watch porn, eh kid?"

His patience was wearing thin, and salvaging whatever dignity and composure he had remaining, Ryoma stood up and announced abruptly, "I'm leaving."

He padded towards the front door, but as he slipped into his sneakers, he could hear his oyaji's voice booming from the hallway, "It wouldn't kill you to meet her!"

It just might.

"I'll arrange a meeting for you two lovebirds!"

One thought was dominant above all others in Ryoma's head at that exact moment.

_I'd better receive some Noble Peace Prize when this is all over._

------

"Do you think this is going to work out?"

"Do _you_?"

A sigh could be heard from the other side of the phone, and Nanjiroh played with the telephone cord, twisting it around his finger some more before letting it droop down towards the floor. This conversation was going nowhere, and quite frankly, it was starting to bore him. The only reason he'd called was to set up that date, anyway. And now that the time and place had been established, all he _really_ wanted now was to hang up the receiver.

But some voice in the back of his mind had informed him that that would be a rude gesture, so he didn't. And right about now he wanted to beat that little voice into the ground. His main intention was to poke a little fun at his son, and set him up in a serious relationship for once.

It's time that boy grew up, he nagged at himself.

But at this rate, the only person who would be getting older was him.

He decided to twist the subject somewhat.

"How'd your granddaughter take it?"

"...Her best friend is more excited than she is."

------

"YOU'RE MARRYING ECHIZEN RYOMA!"

"Ano... Tomo-chan..."

"YOU, Ryuzaki Sakuno, are going to marry THE Echizen Ryoma!"

This prompted a blush from the brunette, and she mumbled shyly.

"To-Tomo-chan! Calm down... it's a forced marriage..."

"Who cares!? This is the man every straight woman and gay man _fantasizes_ about! Whether they know zilch about tennis or not! ...Like me!"

By now, Sakuno was flushing ten different shades of red, from bright, bright fluorescent glow to a deep, crimson hue; for she was also one of those women Tomoka had mentioned so bluntly. When it came to tennis, she was quite clueless, but both she and her friend were dazzled by the photographs in magazines of the handsome, raven-haired tennis player.

It might have been a shallow, puppy-love. But she wanted to drown in the feeling, the warmth that spread through her chest and rose to her cheeks when she heard his voice or watched his matches. She often caught herself wondering if he displayed the same passion in the bed as he did on the court, then shook her head as she tinted a dark pink.

"You're a lucky girl," her long-time friend teased.

Sakuno nodded. She was, she certainly was. But it wasn't _completely_ luck... Sometimes, things are just a roll of the dice, but other times, things are meant to be.

The ring of her cell phone halted her reply, and she bent down to retrieve it from her bag.

"It might be him!" Tomoka squealed with delight, nearly bouncing off her chair and onto their café table.

Sakuno laughed lightly in return, but found herself secretly hoping it would be _him_. She could feel her heartbeat quickening, thumping rapidly in her chest. What if it _was_ him? He wouldn't call this soon would he? Their 'relationship' was only formed just now! And they hadn't even met face-to-face yet!

Anxiously, she pressed the green button on her cell and spoke.

"Moshi moshi?"

"Sakuno."

"Aa, Oba-san!"

The brunette wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved or disappointed, but quickly covered up any traces of either reaction and focused on her grandmother's voice, which was caked with an air of authority.

"Are you free Saturday night?"

"Hai," Sakuno replied after mentally cataloging all the upcoming events on her calendar.

"Good. You're going on a date with Ryoma at Oasis on Saturday night at 8:00 PM."

"S-Saturday? But that's...!"

------

"Tomorrow," Ryoma repeated, "Such short notice."

He sighed and flopped down onto the soft, puffy mattress of his hotel bed. He loved the feel of the silky, white sheets, welcoming him into its folds after a long, troublesome day. Some rest and relaxation -- he deserved that at least.

Though any plans of just sleeping the afternoon away had shattered when he received the call from his oyaji.

_"Seshounen, you've got a day tomorrow night at eight. At least _try_ to get there on time."_

He scoffed. If he had it his way, he would not be going at all, but threats of blackmail and nude baby pictures had convinced him otherwise. His father was a dirty man.

Ryoma found himself wondering what his bride-to-be was like. Was she loud? Was she completely insane and obsessed with celebrities? Was she some creepy psycho-fangirl who would cling to him and never let go?

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to change his name, undergo extensive facial surgery, and move to Mexico where he would rebuild his existence as a taco seller with an unexplainable love for tennis. Sadly, the flaw in that plan happened to be his lack of fluency in the Spanish language.

But if worse came to worse, he could always learn the dialect. Couldn't be that hard, right? And until then, he had a date and more than twenty-four hours to prepare for it... without a clue where to begin.

Ryoma lazily grabbed the telephone from the nightstand and punched in a number, promising this was the last time he went to _him_ for help.

------

"So, wait. Back up. You're stuck in an arranged marriage."

"Hn."

"With a psycho-obsessed fangirl."

"Hn."

"And this isn't some pathetic April Fool's joke?"

"Hn."

Momoshiro Takeshi scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, sitting across from his tennis practice partner who was sprawled out on the bed facing the ceiling.

"There's no way out," his senpai declared after careful consideration, "Unless you want to abandon life as you know it."

"I could do that," Ryoma responded, though sarcastic or not, one could not be a hundred percent sure, especially with the current circumstances that faced the youth.

"C'mon. It's not that bad."

Ryoma gave his companion a pointed look, as if daring him to repeat himself, as if challenging him to list one thing worse. Momoshiro shook his head in return.

"You brought this on yourself, you know."

Now that was a surprising comment.

"What do you mean, Momo-senpai?"

The spiky-haired man leaned back on his chair and stated matter-of-factly, "If you just showed more interest in girls, you wouldn't in this mess now would you?"

Silence was his only reply, and he took this as a sign to continue.

"And _if_ you showed more interest in girls, you would've found a girl you actually _loved_ and married her and lived happily-ever-after. The end!"

Ryoma arched an eyebrow at the unusual use of fairytale dynamics, but chose wisely not to question it – he chose to keep his comments about his friend's logic to himself, as well. You see, he was never a fan of love, nor a believer. Love was a fickle thing, it came and went as it pleased, and it did not favor anyone.

"So I'm not getting out of this one...," he said finally, almost as a question.

"You're not getting out of this one," Momo comfirmed in a 'that's-final-young-man' tone a mother would use with her disobedient son.

And as Ryoma's mind came up with worst-case scenarios of his seemingly-doomed future, the gears in Momoshiro's head were turning, too.

"Oi, Echizen, when's the wedding?"

The latter sat up, mouth twitching and eyes narrowed slightly.

"Why?"

"I was just wondering... can I be your best man?"

Ryoma slapped his forehead. When had his senpai become such a supporter of his father's schemes? When had _he_ become such a favorable victim?

And while somewhere nearby Sakuno thanked her luck, he cursed his.

------

Saturday evening rolled by sooner than he would've liked. In fact, he would've liked it if time just stopped altogether and gave them all time to develop amnesia and forget this whole blasted proposal.

Damn his oyaji. Telling him to be on time when _she_ was late.

He stood by the front of the restaurant, "Oasis" it was called, renowned for its oriental cuisine, or in other words: sushi bar. He glanced at his watch, with its long hand pointing at the fancy 'II' in Roman Numerals.

She was ten minutes late. _Ten minutes_ of his life wasted waiting for a girl he didn't know or care about. Ryoma sighed. There really was nothing he could do about it. Well, except for avoid the glances of the passerby's, their pointing and whisperings of, "Hey isn't that...?"

He disliked fame. He really, really did.

And the people seemed to be getting closer, too. Well, one in particular anyway, who seemed to be making a beeline for him. It seemed to be a girl of his age, of moderate height -- though a few inches shorter than himself -- and a slim body. Her heels clicked on the ground, and her auburn hair swayed to and fro as she walked.

_Is that...her?_ Ryoma asked himself.

But he knew not to hope for too much. This seemingly-shy and domesticated girl could quite well be a rabid woman with a taste for tennis aces. He couldn't really make out her face either, since she was staring at her feet as she walked.

The soft _click, click, click_ of her shoes became louder, but perhaps because he was focusing more on her now. And suddenly the _click_ was a mere three yards away, and the face glanced up at him. And then the unthinkable happened -- perhaps the unpredictable, but not if you knew Ryuzaki Sakuno.

She lost her balance, and by the laws of gravity, was tumbling in a downward path towards the concrete sidewalk. By pure instinct, his hands reach out to catch her in mid-fall, cradling her small body in his arms.

Gold met russet, followed by several yells.

And the flashing of camera lights went off.

------

**to be continued**

**A/N**: Ah, so how was it? My first on-going Tennis no Oujisama ficlet. I was reading pirou's "Exquisite Reverie", followed by Cinpii's "Solitude" at 12:00 midnight and well, it was the one-two punch needed to jump start this story. Both are great fics, much better than mine. I certainly recommend them! Anyway, hopefully the next chapter will be up soon. Please R&R! Thanks.


End file.
